


Crossroads

by foxtrot12, xXHidekaneXx



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Demon AU, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, Falling In Love, M/M, burrs a dick and hams like >:0, potential nsfw oops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-19 07:10:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10634850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtrot12/pseuds/foxtrot12, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXHidekaneXx/pseuds/xXHidekaneXx
Summary: “Who are you?” Alexander questions hoarsely, terrified by the fact that this man knows his name and his family. At the question, the man’s dark eyes snap back to Alex, the smirk faltering ever-so-slightly. He almost appears disappointed.“Oh, Alexander, who am I? What a broad question!” Resting his forearm on the edge of the car, he continues. “Some call me Satan’s spawn. Others settle on simply a monster, murderer, jealousy driven bastard, overpaid prick,” he lists off nonchalantly, rather proud. “People are so sensitive, you know.” He cackles lightheartedly. “I would say those names hurt me,” He explains, resting his hand on his chest in fake sincerity before reaching back into the car to give Alexander’s cheek an obnoxious pinch, “but look at me. I haven’t felt a thing in decades!” The man throws his head back as he laughs a humorless laugh. Something about it seems familiar, but Alexander can’t tell why and it is driving him insane. “But,” he sighs, “for memories’ sake –call me Aaron Burr.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> co author: trashy-scribbles on tumblr

Merely minutes are left until the end of the day, and Alexander had just finished telling his co-worker, Thomas Jefferson, the precise reason why he cannot drive the man home on this particularly rainy Friday evening. Thomas annoys him to no end and Alexander would rather not spend any more time with him outside work (he would have told Thomas that he would rather not spend any time with his dumb ass at all, but the two are working on a case together, and Thomas would, without a doubt, dump extra work on top of Alexander if only he was given an excuse). When the clock above the door of his office finally strikes five, Alexander can’t be any more relieved. Another moment sitting at his desk will surely kill him for good. 

With urgency to get back to his apartment and sleep for the first time in the past twenty-four hours, Alexander gathers his belongings and quickly heads for the door, only halting briefly at the exit of the building to speak to John, who eagerly proposes that him, Alexander, Hercules, and Gilbert should all meet up sometime during the weekend. Alexander isn’t sure that he will be awake long enough to even find the motivation to bring himself out of bed, let alone go somewhere with his ever energetic friends, but he tells John that he will make something work on the upcoming Sunday.  

“You’re such an old man, Alexander,” John states through a cackle as he slips out of the door and jogs across the parking lot to his car. Whether John is running from him or to get out of the rain, Alexander isn’t sure, but he is quite amused nevertheless, considering that he makes an awful amount of jokes about Alex’s age for someone who is simply a year younger.

Shaking his head, he follows his friend into the merciless downpour, doing the same jog to his own car in hopes of remaining mostly dry. Though, the second he ducks out of the literal cold shower, his phone starts vibrating in his pocket, and upon checking who it is, Alexander’s breath hitches in his throat and he goes very still. 

_ Elizabeth _ , reads the screen, the picture of his smiling ex-wife reminding him of the time that he took it. He had spent a weekend at the Schuyler home upstate with her older sister and parents. Philip had been so little then, and Eliza had been so happy when she had heard that he was visiting. 

A new flower of guilt blossoms within his chest at the thought, its petals threatening to break through his ribcage as images of his small family rush through his head. He had loved them very much, so why had he done it? Why had he hurt them? Why had he betrayed them? Why, why,  _ why _ ? Questions that he wishes he had the answers to fill his mind, replacing the joyful past with the ugly truth of the present.

Alexander shakes himself out of his daze before he can dwell on his mistakes any more, realizing that his phone is no longer vibrating in his hand and the screen is back to black. He panics as he fumbles to unlock it, worried that she had called to tell him something urgent and he had missed it like an idiot. Alexander’s nerves get worse when he considers the fact that she doesn’t contact him directly anymore, not after their horrid divorce, anyway.

He does not even get a chance to find Eliza’s contact when her smiling face pops up once again. He immediately accepts the call and brings his phone to his ear, his hands trembling slightly as he does so, anxious for what she has to say.

The second that Alexander picks up, Eliza launches into her reason for calling without giving him a chance to apologise for not answering the previous time she did. “I called Angelica, Peggy, and even some of your friends, but they are all either occupied or did not answer, so you are my last hope,” She rushes out in mild frustration, pauses, takes a deep breath and continues with her explanation. The formality in her tone physically pains him. It sounds as though she is talking to a stranger. “I didn’t even make it out of the parking lot when my car broke down on my way to pick Philip up from school, and I am afraid that it isn’t going to be fixed anytime soon. I know you are extremely busy all the time and you might even be at work still, but I am asking - begging - you to get Philip and I,” She finishes, and Alexander can almost imagine her running a hand through her dark hair in both irritation and growing concern, tapping her foot on the ground in a fidgety habit.

“Of course, it’s no problem at all. I’ll be there to get you as soon as possible,” He softly assures her before she starts having second thoughts about reaching out to him, threading his fingers through his own hair.

There is a moment of silence on the other end. Then, “Thank you, Alexander.” He finds that it would be hard to miss the relief lacing her tone even if he tried, a sad smile playing on his lips. What drove him to hurt such a loving wife and mother? She didn’t deserve any of the heartbreak that he brought her. Why, why,  _ why _ ?

“Like I said, it’s no problem. I’ll be there soon, so stay in the car and stay safe, all right?”

It’s too late to ask for forgiveness, but Alexander figures that he earned it. He earned being ignored and excluded from any kind of news regarding Philip and Eliza. And in moments like these, he wishes he could take back every time he chose his job over his family, and he especially wishes he could erase his mistake; erase all the pain he had caused her.

“You too. It is raining rather heavily tonight, so you better be safe on the road,” Elizabeth warns him light-heartedly. A tight feeling grows in Alexander’s chest at her words; she still cares about him, even after everything that he had done.

It doesn’t take Alexander longer than ten minutes to reach his first destination. As he pulls up into the parking lot, he sees Eliza’s car parked across two spaces, lights illuminating the interior. He pulls up beside her just as she plunges back into darkness and pops her door open, jumping out into the rain. She jogs around the front to reach something in the backseat of her light blue BMW, finally emerging after a minute with her bag in her hand. She locks her car and speed-walks to hop into Alexander’s, her back and hair almost dripping wet.

They exchange brief greetings as she buckles in and pull onto the road. It’s a long and mostly silent drive to Philip’s school. They ask each other trivial questions about work to be polite, but it is clear that Eliza has no intention of talking to him, if her short and stiff answers point to anything. But Alexander doesn't mind, because he can imagine that simply being in the same car as him triggers unwanted memories. So when the car goes quiet after every reply, all Alex can do is focus on driving, feeling as though he will say something out of place if he is to do anything but keep his full attention on the road. He fears that even asking how Eliza is doing might be personal enough to warrant a rant.

Pulling up to Philip’s school, Eliza fishes her phone out of her coat pocket, clicking on the screen and bringing it to her ear, speaking in her quiet and comforting tone into it after a moment of silence. “No, hun, I haven't forgotten to pick you up. We are just outside right now.” Pause. “Yes, honey, your father and I.” A sigh. “I would pick you up in my car like I usually do, but I can't do much about it if it breaks down.” Deep breath, hand threading through locks of black, foot tapping. “Just get in the car, hun. I can't have you getting the bus this late and in this sort of weather.” Alexander shifts awkwardly beside her, his hands clutching the steering wheel absent-mindedly, wishing that he could go back in time and stop himself from doing what he had done. 

After Eliza hangs up the phone, only a few moments pass before Philip comes jogging out of the front entrance of the school and towards Alexander’s car. His usually curly, bouncy hair is soaking wet, matted to his forehead, as are his clothes.

“Hey, Mama,” Philip greets as he dives into the car, depositing his school bag beside him and smiling brightly at his mother. Though, that smile quickly morphs into a frown when turns to fix Alex with a thoroughly irritated look, as if he was hoping all this time that his mother was joking about his father driving them home. “Hello, Alexander,” He addresses the man with a voice lacking the affection it held a moment ago.

“How was school, honey?” Eliza returns his smile and speaks gently, knowing how uncomfortable this is for him.  

The divorce was especially hard on Philip; he had always been so close to his father: the pair were practically inseparable. But, Philip also adored his mother and the thought of Alexander hurting Eliza broke his heart.

“I’ll tell you all about it when we get home,” Philip replies, deliberately trying to keep Alexander out of his personal life. Alex’s heart sinks at his response, but he remains silent.  He deserves this.  If his son doesn't want to talk to him, he will not force him to.  Maybe, one day, they can rebuild their relationship, but he doesn't think that any of them are ready just yet.

Quietly sighing, he tries to break the tension. “How are your grades, Philip? Are you still doing well in school?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I hear you actually caring about your family? What a surprise!” Philip scoffs, laughing as though Alexander had just told him a joke. 

“Philip, there is no need to be rude, your father is just trying to make conversation,” Eliza comments, trying to silence her son. 

“He is no father of mine!” Philip yells, startling both of the adults in the front and leaning forward in his seat as far as he can against the protest of his seat belt. Inhaling sharply, he tries to calm himself down, leaning back into the smooth leather of the interior moments later and crossing his arms.  “He lost that privilege when he chose his work reputation and some  _ whore  _ over his own  _ family _ .”

“Philip, that is no way to talk to your mother! And the cursing? Don't use that sort of language in front of your parents,” Alexander scolds, feeling his grip on the steering wheel tightening and his his teeth clenching, but he refrains from elaborating further.

“You know what? Screw you!” Philip spits, venom dripping from every word. “You have no right to tell me what I should or shouldn’t say. If Mama didn’t like the way I spoke to her, she can say it herself, and maybe you could even let her decide what she does or doesn’t want me to act like. You keep acting like you’re still a part of this family, like you're still  _ my father,  _ but you aren't, so mind your own business and stay away from us,”  Philip’s voice rises with every word, anger practically radiating off of him.

“I don't want you with us any more,  _ we _ don't want you with us any more. You had your shot and you threw it away! You threw it all away, and for what? You've broken our family and that's all you have to show for what you’ve done.” Philip slumps heavily against the seat and tries to catch his breath. Silence falls over the car, the only sound being the wiper blades dragging back and forth across the windshield in a rhythm. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Alexander decides that if he focuses on the noise enough, he will be able to distract himself from the crushing tension in the small space of his white Volvo.

The rain is getting worse by the minute, it seems, drumming against the windows and the roof of the car with the intensity of Alexander’s heart racing in his chest. 

His voice is caught helplessly in his throat. The man who had all the words is left speechless. He is far too shattered to be fixed, far too damaged to be mended. When he doesn’t find the words to express his true remorse, he settles for a typically stupid alternative, hoping that it doesn’t blow up in his face. Alexander’s tone reverts to its previously soft and gentle manner, but this time, a slight twinge of pain and guilt could be heard in his words. 

“Philip, I’m sorry,” He tries, putting as much sincerity into those three words as he can possibly muster, looking at his son through the rear-view mirror. Alexander’s tired and dull eyes meet Philip’s blazing ones in the reflection, and for a moment, he thinks that the teenager in the backseat is about to burst into a round of angry tears, especially judging by the twitch of his lips. 

This is his fault. Why couldn’t he say no when he was given the chance? How could he ever forget about his dearest little family? Staying home was all it took to avoid what is unwrapping before him, yet Alexander didn’t. Why, why,  _ why _ ?

“I am so sorry-” Alexander tries to continue apologising despite knowing that it will not fix a single thing. But he wants it to, he wants those words to fix everything. 

His son, however, is quick to cut him off. “Apologies won't fix anything,” He states, and by the hush that settles between the three in the seconds after he speaks, it is clear that everyone in the car had always known it. “You told us you loved us. You told us that whatever the weather, you would never hurt us. But I guess words are exactly that: just words thrown into the wind, letting us hear what we wanted to hear. You were always good with them; you were always good at using words to  _ manipulate  _ people. And I guess that’s exactly what you did to us, too. We trusted you then, and what did you do? You took our faith in you and broke it!” Philip exclaims, his voice cracking towards the end of his sentence and his eyes falling onto his clenched hands in his lap, but he isn’t done yet. “So how could you ask us to trust you again? How can we ever take that risk after what we had to go through because you couldn’t decline another woman’s invitation? You might have been able to talk your way out of refusing to spend time with us, but you can't use your pretty little words to talk your way out of this one.” Alexander wishes that Philip would look up again, to try and convert his regret into eye-contact, but he can't bare to see the pain that must be locked behind his son’s walls. Philip turns his head to look out of the window, blinking back what Alex can only guess are tears.  “Nothing you can say will change the fact that I hate you.”

Alexander sits up rigidly straight in his seat, feeling his heart practically shatter, knowing that every single bit of what was spoken is the truth. Next to him, Eliza gasps, her hand covering her mouth and her eyes widening. 

He knows that she can't bring herself to scold their son for his words.  

Averting his eyes back to the road, Alexander himself can feel tears forming in his eyes in response to the fresh wound in his soul.

Alexander has experienced the worst of the worst, both physically and emotionally. He watched his own mother slip away while holding him in her weakening arms and was caught in the destruction a hurricane brought to his home when he was merely a teenager. He saw death in every place he looked, trying to escape the nightmare he was living. He has worked days on end without food or sleep. He has been yelled at and publicly humiliated: betrayed by people he trusted and respected. But never, _ever_ , has he come this close to breaking down in front of the people he loved. He always stood tall, squared his shoulders and continued fighting tooth and nail through every struggle life threw his way. And yet, in this very instant, he feels like sobbing. His chest aches, his heart is pounding and he wants nothing more than to pull his family into a hug and beg. 

Beg for their forgiveness. For a fresh start. For the love they once had for each other to return.

In the moment of being emotionally absorbed, Alexander notices far too late that there is a car barreling down the mildly flooded street as he crosses the intersection, and in a fleeting thought, he knows that whatever is about to happen is inevitable no matter what he tries to do. He thinks he hears Philip call his name, but his voice is lost in the sound of metal against metal.


	2. Chapter 2

All three are thrown to the side at the impact, and Alexander’s head smashes painfully into the glass beside him, knocking black and white spots into his surroundings.

His head is pounding and his ears are ringing, his vision refusing to clear. A hand of smoke grips his neck, filling his throat and his lungs, making it so hard to breathe and sending him into a coughing fit. He moans loudly once he forces himself to contain the coughing, a stab of pain rushing through his entire being until he can no longer feel half of it. Turning his head to try and shift his body, he nearly blacks out from the agony.

Alexander is swimming in his half-conscious state as time seems to slow down. He can't breathe, he feels like he's drowning in the smoke and in the pain. He is gasping for air, a cold wave of wind and what seems to be rain rushing in through the gaps where the windows should be, but it isn’t helping in providing enough oxygen. His panic begins to grow. The world spins in front of him, making him exceptionally dizzy and disoriented as well as ready to upheave the contents of his stomach, so Alexander squeezes his eyes shut in hopes of regaining his breath and control over his own body. 

Managing to will himself to stop panting, he slows down the rate of his inhaling and exhaling to a moderate pace, the fingers on his throat easing up as the fumes begin to filter out of the car. But the haze in his mind is still there, and he can hardly register what is happening, so he tries to recollect the events of the evening to ground him. He remembers arguing with somebody just before he left work and his friend told him something - probably a joke, because he remembers hearing laughter.

Broken memories with no chronological order tumble in and out of his head: a little boy with wild curls giggling, a light blue car broken down, a phone call, rain, the smiling face of a woman calling his name, and the same face marked with tears, her eyes vulnerable after being hurt by her own love. A name written on a screen.

_ Elizabeth _ . 

At the thought, he jolts in his seat with a newfound feeling of dread, knowing that the second he opens his eyes, he will wish he never did, but he needs to see what happened to Eliza. He needs to know what happened to his family.

Alexander’s eyelids flutter open, finding a crumpled figure beside him, unmoving. It takes him a moment to realise who it is, but when he does, the panic rushes back so fast, it feels like he has been slapped. 

Choking back a sob, Alexander helplessly tries to focus his bleary eyes on Eliza’s barely recognizable body, light from the lamp-post by the side of the road bathing her in a harsh white glow, her face sickly pale. His surroundings sway from side to side, but he still makes out her face in the blur of colors, even if it appears in double. Crimson red stains her ashen skin, and the sight nearly does make him vomit. 

_ There is so much blood.  _ It’s  _ everywhere _ . Alexander can  _ smell  _ it, he can  _ taste  _ it on his own tongue. 

Alex tries to reach out for her, his arm feeling every stab and prick of pain that comes with every strain of his muscles. “Eliza…” He murmurs, his voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper above the ringing in his ears, his hand shaking in an attempt to touch her. She seems so far away. 

Alex reaches and reaches and reaches, and after what feels like centuries, his fingers latch onto her forearm. Her skin is still warm, but it must have only been minutes since the collision (even if it feels like millennia has passed), and he knows not to trust the presence of body heat when it comes to determining whether or not somebody is still alive. He hates that he is already thinking like all hope is gone for his wife –his  _ ex _ -wife– but he knows he has to think logically, even if it is exceptionally hard.

He trails his hand down her arm, her blood sticking to Alexander's fingers as tears begin to well up in his eyes and he exhales raggedly, puffs of steam almost invisible due to the speed of the action. He feels trapped, like the world is closing in on him and despite his best efforts, he can’t  _ breathe _ . He thinks that he fainted momentarily from the lack of oxygen, the black spots ever-present in front of his eyes.

Judging by how the passenger door is caved in, bringing Eliza much closer to Alexander than she originally was, the car that had hit his own must have crashed directly into the door, collapsing the metal into her side. 

He finds her wrist. He searches for her pulse.

Alex cannot hold onto a single coherent thought when his half-numb fingers don’t acquire a response, which frustrates him to no end. He wishes the fog would lift, allowing him to think straight enough to soak up the reality of the situation. “Eliza,” he gasps, furious with his hopelessly useless body and his scattered mind. Furious that it’s raining so heavily and that her car had to break down on this specific day. Furious that he couldn’t be a better husband and father, choosing his job over his family. He nearly begins sobbing, his fingers still on her skin.

There is so much noise. The ringing, his loud wheezing, his heart pulsing in every part of him that he can still feel.

An instant, silence falls when an anguished cry emerges from the backseat, the intensity of it physically hurting Alexander. 

Philip. He is in pain and without a doubt broken in many places, but he is still there and still breathing and still alive. Alexander’s eyes dart around the car in hopes of finding a way to check his son, but all that is at his disposal is the cracked rear-view mirror. Philip’s various cries and whimpers continue to fill the car, breaking Alexander worse than any physical pain he currently feels.

Blinking several times, he tries to will the dizziness away enough to be able to register the multiple reflections of his son, but is struck with horror once he gets a good enough look. He inhales sharply and lets it out shakily. Big, fat tears fall from his eyes, smudging his vision to the point where he can hardly see a thing. 

“Philip,” Alexander rasps, unable to rid his mind of the image of his son crushed between the passenger door and the seat. He can’t even tell where Philip ends and where the twisted metal of the car starts.

“Pa,” the boy manages in a faint, broken whimper, and Alexander almost doesn’t catch it. He can barely even imagine how much it must hurt him to simply breathe.  “Please…”

With a deep inhale, Alexander clenches his teeth and swivels his body through the excruciating pain, groaning and huffing, trying so hard not to pass out. His son needs him, so, for once, he has to be there for him.

Alexander clutches the seatbelt still fixed across his chest with his violently shaking hand, only now coming to realise how much it has been restricting his lungs all this time. He tries to move his arm in order to unbuckle, but a light twitch of the fingers lets him know very clearly that it had been broken during the impact of the crash. Another groan escapes his throat as he lifts his good arm over his middle, clawing at the air and his thigh in search for the release button, smearing  _ her  _ blood on the belt and his own clothes.

He begins to feel irritation building in his belly, tugging and tugging at his seatbelt like an antsy child. But it won’t budge no matter what. More black spots appear in his vision and the tears won’t stop coming. He can hear Philip in the back seat panting and struggling to break free from the door, making his movements more erratic and energy consuming rather than effective. He curses his clumsy hand.

“It will be all right, Philip,” Alexander says softly, knowing full well that it will not, in fact, be all right. He can hear the dripping of the rain in the back seat, hitting the metal of the car door. “Just give me a moment, I think my arm is broken. I need to find the release of the belt. I’ll help you out and it will all be fine. We’ll get you to the hospital and they’ll patch you up in no time. You’ll go to school in a month and with the help of a rehabilitation programme, you’ll even be good to play lacrosse again by September. They’re always holding tryouts at the start of every school year, right? I’m sure you’ll get in without question, and when you have your games, I’ll be there with you, okay?” He knows he is rambling despite his throat feeling like sandpaper and his body wracking with loud sobs, but he can’t help it. Saying the reassuring words out loud makes them sound like he is predicting the future. A future where Philip is alive and well, excitedly telling him facts about space, laughing at Alexander’s ‘dad jokes’, strolling tiredly into the kitchen in the middle of the night to get a glass of water and catching his father working late for the millionth time.

“Promise?” Philip wheezes out, and Alexander glances at the rear-view mirror to see his son giving him the widest grin he can muster, his eyes rolling back into his skull, his head falling back against the seat.

“Of course, Philip,” He promises. 

_ This sounds too much like a goodbye. _

Alexander is shaking from both the cold that has long since settled in the car and the fact that he is the only one to blame for this whole mess. For this crash, for Eliza’s death, one of his son’s feet in his early grave, the divorce, the heartbreak, the affair. 

It is entirely his fault. He is the one who should be suffering in Philip’s place, the one to die in Eliza’s. And yet, he is the one who is going to live another day to tell people of this night and bear the weight of the responsibility on his shoulders. 

With his ever-shaking hand, he finally manages to find the button, but his arm is too weak. No matter how many times Alexander pushes on it in hopes of releasing the seatbelt, it will not unlatch.

“No, no, no, no,  _ no, no _ !” He pants through clenched teeth, furiously tugging at the belt, feeling more light headed with every passing minute. “Shit,  _ shit _ . I can’t do it. I can’t fucking do it.” One last jerk at the belt. “Someone, help,  _ please _ !” Alexander tries the loudest that his torn throat will allow him, but there is no answer. The only sound that greets him is the rushing of the wind and the rapid pitter-patter of the rain, his heart hammering painfully. “Shit!” He cries through another sob, his entire body going limp against his seat, his chest rising and falling fast. He can’t give up, but the more he thrashes, the more his lungs burn and the more his head spins.

The only noise coming from the backseat is Philip’s shallow breathing, and Alexander knows that if he doesn’t find a way to get help, his son isn’t going to make it to the end of the night. He feels so useless and so  _ helpless _ . There is a massive chance that his right arm is broken, maybe even in multiple places, and he definitely has a concussion. It is so hard to think straight and keep the bile in his stomach, let alone see clear enough to take in his surroundings and devise a plan of action. Every part of him that isn't numb hurts, putting a new white spot in his eyes every time he moves. 

No matter how much he wishes he could, Alexander can’t help Philip. At the thought, the tears begin to fall harder. He almost forgot he was crying. It seems like he’s been sobbing for such a long time, and it’s not going to ever stop. Just like the constant tides and waves of the cold ocean, pulling him under everytime he catches a breath. But he never seems to die. 

With a heavy heart, Alexander rolls his head onto the headrest despite the thorough protest of his neck, his right hand cradling his left arm to his stomach, the blur of the world swimming in his sights. He shivers, only now coming to realise that he is freezing.

It’s so,  _ so cold _ .


	3. Chapter 3

Alex feels like he is losing consciousness. Is he bleeding? He doesn’t know. He can hardly feel anything anymore. Sense of time has left him since the collision, but he guesses that it must have been some dozen minutes, so he figures that he will be terribly lucky to wake up again if he is to pass out.

Eventually, after another moment or eternity passes, Alexander notes that the uncoordinated white noise of the wind and rain has stopped. He opens his eyes - he doesn’t have recollection of when he had closed them - and through the tears and two images of the street in front of him, he derives a conclusion: the downpour of fat droplets didn’t stop falling, they are suspended in the air. He must be delusional. 

His head angles to the side, his eyes rapidly moving from  _ her  _ lifeless body to the gap in the door, searching for something - anything - that disproves his theory. It must be the concussion messing with his reality. It has to be. But wherever he looks, it makes him feel crazier every time.

The leaves on the sidewalks that were caught in the wind are now frozen in the air, unmoving as if somebody had pressed the pause button on life. It became so silent, every breath of his gives an echo in response, and the beating of his heart in his ears is louder than ever. 

Alexander perks up at the sound of footsteps approaching, sitting up the best he can against the seatbelt, the relief almost enough to overcome the dizziness and pain that washes over him with the movement. He turns his head slowly, trying to avoid adding onto his already disoriented state, and registers a tall figure standing beside his door.  At this point, Alexander doesn’t even know if this vision is real, but it doesn’t matter to him. He is  _ desperate. _

A second does not pass until words begin to tumble out of Alexander’s mouth. “Please, help me. My son and wife, they’re...” He trails off, right hand weakly gesturing to his family, unable to continue, another sob ringing out.

“Well, well, well, who do we have here?” A deep, soothing voice reaches Alexander, sending chills down his spine. Something about the voice puts him on the edge, but Alex cannot seem to figure out as to why. 

A moment later, a face sporting a rather sadistic smirk lowers into view, gaze holding a malicious spark. “Alexander Hamilton himself!” The man before him has his hands tucked in the pants pockets of his nicely pressed suit, almost leisurely. “You seem a little battered, huh?” The man’s grin widens. “But you were in worse condition when  _ I  _ had my way with you.” Reaching through the shattered window, the man swipes his thumb across Alexander’s cheek as if wiping away a smudge of dirt. “Honestly, what a fortunate encounter!” He chuckles, seeming to be pleased with the situation as he surveys the interior of the car, his dark eyes darting from Alexander to Eliza to Philip with a malicious hunger of sorts, as if he cannot get enough of the tragedy in the scene. “Oh, Eliza,” he winces, inhaling sharply in a mock hurt manner. “Such a shame, she was so nice and beautiful. I’d rather be meeting her here than  _ you _ .” That sadistic smirk of his quickly returns.

“Who are you?” Alexander questions hoarsely, terrified by the fact that this man knows his name and his family. At the question, the man’s dark eyes snap back to Alex, the smirk faltering ever-so-slightly. He almost appears disappointed.

“Oh _ ,  _ Alexander, who am  _ I _ ? What a broad question!” Resting his forearm on the edge of the car, he continues. “Some call me Satan’s spawn. Others settle on simply a monster, murderer, jealousy driven bastard, overpaid prick,” he lists off nonchalantly, rather proud. “People are so sensitive, you know.” He cackles lightheartedly. “I would say those names hurt me,” He explains, resting his hand on his chest in fake sincerity before reaching back into the car to give Alexander’s cheek an obnoxious pinch, “but look at me. I haven’t felt a thing in decades!” The man throws his head back as he laughs a humorless laugh. Something about it seems familiar, but Alexander can’t tell why and it is driving him insane. “ _ But _ ,” he sighs, “for memories’ sake –call me Aaron Burr,” He looks expectantly at Alexander, and the smirk begins to fade when the delirious man does not provide the response Aaron Burr was seeking.

“Please, Aaron Burr, sir, you have to help my son,” Alexander begs softly, his breathing unsteady. “He is horribly injured and needs medical attention,  _ please _ .” When will the tears stop?

Straightening, Aaron takes a step away from the wreck, and Alexander opens his mouth to plead with the man who may be the first and the last person to find Philip and him trapped inside the chunk of scrunched metal. Though, he does not get the chance. 

The stranger snaps his fingers and within a split-second, Alexander is on his feet, a comfortable distance from Aaron, left to fall against the exterior of his car for support, more light-headed than he had been before. He sucks in a sharp breath on instinct, but the agony doesn’t come, which momentarily surprises him. He is practically unscathed comparing to his previous state, when he thinks about it. Only his supposedly broken arm continues throbbing painfully by his side.

Before he has time to question the certainty of what is happening, Aaron pulls Alex towards him with only the wave of his hand, close enough for Alexander to feel small next to the man looming over him in a predatory manner. He looks up at Aaron, shuddering once he meets the dark, sinister eyes. His face is bathed in shadows of a November evening clashing with the white glow of the street light, making him seem more like an ominous figure from one’s childhood nightmares.

Averting his attention, Alexander throws a glance over his shoulder at his family trapped in the car, ready to start begging again, but his head snaps back when the other man begins speaking. “Look at me, Alexander, not them,” Aaron grabs Alexander's chin with a surprisingly gentle grasp. “You don't have to worry about them anymore; I can take care of it,” He murmurs, his lips lighting up in a light smile, his grip on Alexander's chin tightening before he releases him with a small shove. “While neither of us can do much about your Eliza, whether Philip lives or dies…” He pauses dramatically, spares the general direction of Philip a look, and continues, “Well, that is up to you. Because, you see, Alexander, I am prepared to make you a deal,” His voice drops to a whisper as he, again, leans closer to the shorter man.

“A deal with the Devil,” Alexander says in a mildly frightened manner, barely believing the words that leave his mouth, and matching Aaron’s sudden proximity with a short stumble backwards.

Aaron chuckles, as if Alex had just told him a joke. “Not quite.” An invisible hand grabs the front of Alex’s shirt. He lets out a small gasp as his legs flail in the air, his toes barely scraping the ground.

“Alexander, you are a special case. You have suffered your entire life: first, your father left you and your mother when you were too young to even remember his face, and then your mother died in your arms! How  _ tragic.  _ And then you were given to your cousin who committed suicide, leaving you so alone for years afterwards to fend for yourself as natural disasters and famine reigned over your birth place. And now, with your home broken and the only people you can actually call your family dead or,” Aaron pauses, a smile stretching wider across his face, “ _ dying _ , you are, truly, left with nothing.” He grins evilly, not showing an ounce of sympathy. “I take pity on you.  Oh, _ wait,”  _ Aaron hums, leaning close enough to Alexander that his nose brushes against his cheek.  “I don't,” He deadpans.

Sighing, Aaron takes a step back, gesticulating as he talks.  “At this point, you are basically Death’s bitch, and it pains me,  _ really _ , to see you like this.” Aaron simpers with a shake of his head and begins pacing, apparently not able to contain his excitement.

“Luckily for you, Philip isn’t dead yet, just unconscious from the blood loss. I can save him for you, but it will cost you.” Aaron halts his pacing and looks down at the ground as if to hide his giddiness, then back up at Alexander, his once brown eyes red, like the blood still coating Alex’s fingers.  Alexander can’t stop the shiver that overtakes his body.

“If you can supposedly save Philip, why doesn’t that offer extend to Eliza?” He bites back, his desperation getting the better of him.

“Alexander,” Aaron sighs, lowering his gaze, “what do I look like to you?  A god?  I know, I know, my beauty  _ does  _ rival with that of a god’s, but I'm not. Your Eliza is  _ dead as a doorknob,”  _ Aaron says, his voice unnervingly calm. “I am a crossroads demon. I cannot bring people back from the dead,” Aaron explains so bluntly, so simply, it hits Alexander like a punch in the heart, a thousand times worse than it had when he was swimming in a haze of a concussion. “So, how about it? You pay up and Philip lives —I’ll even fix him up a little as a bonus for an  _ old friend _ ,” Aaron tempts, knowing full well that Alex can’t possibly decline such a proposition. He has been backed into a corner, and the only way he can get out is to accept this deal.

With a quivering inhale, he nods and blinks away the oncoming tears. “You want my soul? You can have it. You can have  _ anything. _ As long as Philip lives, I don’t care,” He tries to sound confident, but the crack of his voice when he says his son’s name definitely does not help his case. 

“Oh,  _ relax _ , Alexander. I don’t want your soul. I don't like being paid with  _ dirty  _ things.” He snickers. The tight grip on Alexander's shirt releases him, causing him to stagger a series of steps. Aaron circles Alexander like a hunter circling his prey, his fingers dragging along Alexander's waist, watching his every motion with hungry eyes, not missing the involuntary shiver of fear or otherwise. Aaron stops once he is in front of Alexander again, the hand that has found its way to his lower back yanks him close enough for their chests to be touching, for them be be sharing the same air. He feels so hot, flustered, even.

Aaron Burr dips his head, his mouth by Alexander’s ear, his voice dangerously smooth like chocolate, deep like thunder. “I want  _ you _ .” 

Alexander is suddenly paralysed, only now realising that he is in way over his head. Aaron lets go and steps away from him, taking the warmth with him, leaving Alex breathless. He smiles, knowing that he had delivered the wanted effect on the shorter man. He is already tearing him down, taking advantage of his vulnerability to toy with him, mercilessly dunking his head under water long enough to make him accept death and pulling him out to give him false hope of escaping the terrifying cycle. 

“It’s nothing very personal, of course. I mean, you  _ only _ ruined my life and casted me to hell for over two centuries to devolve into a demon, but-” Alexander is quick to interject defensively, which visibly riles Aaron Burr.

“I did no such thing!” He exclaims, offended that this man knows so much about him, and yet resorts to making such massively false accusations.

Aaron’s eyes flare up like roaring fires, scorching Alex with their glare. A mere wave of a hand sends him slamming into his car, back aching and all of the air leaving him, pinned to the metal with no control of his body. The other man is pressing into him in seconds, one palm on the frame of the car by Alexander’s head, the other behind his back, the heat of his body spilling over Alex.

“Don’t interrupt me, Alexander. I swear I will-” Aaron pauses to recollect himself, letting out a long sigh. He can't break his toy before getting to play. “Like I was saying, despite you taking a _giant shit_ on my life after we met, even after your _death_ , I am willing to put that behind us for this deal to be more... _fair_ for you. After all, my sole duty as a crossroads demon is to make people’s lives better for an according price. I'm nice, _really._ ” He inches towards Alexander in a self-assured manner until their noses are almost touching, while Alex quivers on his feet and struggles for breath like a fish out of water, his face flushing. 

“Do I have to sign a contract of s-some sort?” He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. Internally, he curses his twisted tongue and the stutter in his words.

Aaron smiles smugly at him, knowing exactly what he’s doing. “No, not at all! Let's be real, _Alex,_ it's the twenty-first century. The pen and paper or blood contracts, they are all rather old-school and overly dramatic, don’t you think? I've long since upgraded. All I require is a kiss. It makes the deal more personal, you know?” He simpers and Alex’s legs almost give way underneath him the second the information dawns on him.

“This doesn't feel right,” Alexander states, his stomach churning uncomfortably, looking Aaron in the eyes and trying hard to ignore the fear bubbling in his gut. But the man only quirks an eyebrow, as if thoroughly amused by his anxiety.

“As much as your concern for the process of my deals humors me, I ought to assure you that no trickery is involved in how I do my business. I help your son and in return you serve me for as long as I need you to. Nothing particularly illegal or physically demanding, may I add. So if I was in your predicament, I would have taken this proposition by now,” Speaking softly, he leans in ever so closely, their lips almost brushing. “Or, do you want me to leave your son to die?”

“ _ No _ ,” Alexander quickly replies. “I agree to your deal.” However, before Aaron closes the distance between them, Alexander continues, lifting his right hand to prevent their lips from touching just yet. “But I don’t want you using this arrangement against anybody except for me. I don’t care if I have to answer to your every beck and call; Philip stays out of it.”

With an annoyed sigh, Aaron nods hurriedly, waving his hand. “That’s fine, whatever.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Alexander connects their lips and, for a second, he is worried he is too out of practice, but quickly decides to drop the thought, realizing that he doesn’t care. After some time, Alexander goes to move away. But apparently, the kiss wasn’t enough to satisfy the deal, because Aaron grabs the back of his neck, keeping him in place, catching the shorter man off guard in result. He uses Alexander's gasp of surprise to his advantage, running his tongue over Alex’s bottom lip and into his mouth.

He hasn’t been kissed like that since the divorce.

Alexander swears he feels Aaron softly run his thumb across his cheek in an almost, dare he say,  _ affectionate _ way, but the thought escapes him as he finds himself caught up in the heat of the moment.

Aaron's teeth catch Alex’s bottom lip when he finally breaks away to catch his breath, the steady beeping of a machine cutting through the hush of the street.   



End file.
